"Stay away from them," Castor tells you, wary. "They look dangerous."

He doesn't need to say it twice. You're a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them: the highblood-looking fucker might as well be twice your height, and the sort of lowbloods that associate with highbloods aren't the sorts you want to lift your spirits with.

Marduk has stepped between you and the older trolls, and you're perfectly comfortable with that. If it came to strifing, you've got your sword, and Castor, and your centispidermom, sleeping under the collar of your cloak... but no way it'll come to that.

Marduk'll make sure of that. Right?